Firey Bad Ass Hell Love
by The Truth's Lie
Summary: Damien is intrigued by a new arrival in Hell. All the while, Clyde's just a bad ass. Dyde, because I can. And because the name makes me laugh my ass off.


As the antichrist, Damien had a lot of responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was overseeing the torturing of the damned when his father was too sore from "night time activities" to move. He had seen many strange things. He had seen a little British boy, too young to know what was going on, pass through this line and Damien had never regretted snatching him up. Paperwork was a bitch and only Pip had the patience to deal with Jesus on one of his off days. He had seen a French boy burst in, kicking and threatening for a seat only to be sucked out when he got to the leather armchair. The most interesting boy had to come in the morning after his sixteenth birthday. Head pounding from a massive hangover, Damien had been shooting fireballs at the new recruits, tossing others into the Pit of Eternal Ass-rape when they got too loud with their wails.

The boy was strangely average. Plain brown eyes and straight brown hair made him look like something out of a textbook. He was crying. This was not unusual. Many people came in screaming about how this was a mistake, sobbing their eyes out about wanting to go home. This boy wasn't. He was crying, not sobbing. The tears were silent and his shoulders shook from hiccups.

_Hic._

When he burst out into a sarcastic, hysterical chorus of Highway to Hell, he was surprised the voice didn't irritate him, even if it was marred by hiccups.

_Hic._

When the boy wrapped a protective arm around a child, too old for heaven, he simply ignored it.

_Hic._

When he attempted to high-five Michael Jackson, he was intrigued.

_Hic._

When he punched him in the face for trying to squeeze a younger boy's ass, he laughed.

Even after his father returned and the boy had been tossed into a nearby Iron Maiden, the hiccups echoed around his head. Pip didn't blink when he burst in, setting the fish tank on fire in the process of asking for the boy's information. He poured over the meager text, absorbing the word and ignoring the Brit's scolds for killing the fish. It didn't matter to him. Whose idea of a joke was it to put angelfish in an aquarium in Hell anyway?

_Clyde Donovan, 17._

_Cause of death; snake bite on school hiking trip._

_Date of death; 5-01-11_

_Verdict; Iron Maiden for three days, salt bath for one and thrown back in._

_Decree; two weeks leave on death-day._

_Signed,_

_His Holy Inferno Master,_

_Satan Thorne Hussein._

Attached was a picture of Clyde with his arms around a blonde and an irritated boy who looked a bit like Damien. In a surprisingly good mood, Damien let Pip out early so he could go get ready for his date with Christophe. He strolled down the sidewalk, curiosity satisfied for now, whistling under his breath and enjoying the screams of anguish that echoed from the nearby cliffs. He stopped outside an iron maiden and cheerfully ripped open the door, ready to burn someone's face off. A body slid to the ground, bleeding and quivering. Damien dropped to his knee and smiled, dragging a finger along a large wound. He popped the blood covered digit into his mouth and hummed in appreciation. Iron and salt, he thought approvingly, no trace of smoke or sickness or alcohol, even if there was a slight understate of Mexican food. The body looked up at him, eyes filled with tears. Damien froze as he looked into the watery eyes of Clyde Donovan. "Thanks for getting me out of there, dude." He mumbled before falling over.

Normally, he would take this chance to set them on fire or turn them into a sandwich for his lunch, but this time he just couldn't. With an angry sigh, Damien tossed the boy over his shoulder, stumbling under the weight. "Damn…" He hissed. "How the hell are you so heavy?"

"I'm not fat, you douche." Clyde mumbled against his shoulder, eyes fluttering open. "Where the hell are we going?"

"It doesn't matter." He spoke quickly and began to move faster. He didn't _know _where they were going to be honest. He didn't know why he had stopped to pick this _mortal _up. Pip had been a one-time thing. A good idea hidden in a bad action. Pip hadn't been a mistake; he had been a lapse of judgment. He couldn't go around picking up everyone who looked sad, this was Hell, everyone was sad. "It doesn't matter." He repeated as he kicked the door to his house/office open.

Pip looked up from his desk, smoothing out the wrinkles in his black suit. "Oh!" He exclaimed in surprise. "Who's this?" Clyde waved from his position, hissing in pain as he did so.

"Clyde. Can I borrow your first aid it?" The antichrist said calmly.

Pip's eyes widen. "Oh! Yes! Yes, of course. Beg your pardon." He fled from the room, sensible heels clacking on the floor as he walked, returning with a black plastic box. "You have Band-Aids, disinfectant, gauze, everything you need." He promised.

"Pip? Are you ready to go?" Christophe asked, his accent coloring his words as he stepped over the shattered door.

"Give me a second, please, Christophe." Pip begged. "Now, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get any answers, Damien, but I don't want any bloodstains on my sheets. They're satin, you know" Christophe walked in curiously, brushing the dirt from the legs of his pants.

"What do we have here?" The French man mumbled quietly. He tilted Clyde's head to the side and hummed. Damien could not help the instinctive urge to yank the boy away. "Clyde Donovan, I'd zay it was nice to see you again but zhat would be a lie."

"Frenchy." Clyde greeted, voice tight with pain.

"Clyde?" Pip questioned. "Clyde Donovan, from South Park?"

"You should know, Pip, you do the paperwork." Damien said dryly, taking the first aid kit.

Pip smiled sweetly. "Yes Damien. I'll make your to memorize each and every person that walks through that door." Damien ignored him in favor of walking to the Brit's room, pretending not to notice the twinkling laughter as the other two swept out of the room.

He dropped the bloody boy ungracefully on the bed. Damien smirked at the pained moan. He was the antichrist after all. "Turn over and take off your shirt." He commanded, popping open the locks.

"Bleh." Clyde groaned, tearing at the ripped fabric. It fell away after a minute and Clyde went limp, exhausted from that little action. Damien dabbed gently at the holes in his chest, not quite sure why he was bothering. No doubt the boy was going to be thrown back in the Maiden when he was healed. "Damien…" Clyde whispered. "Come closer."

"Shut up and hold still." He commanded, slathering on the disinfectant. The scream he was rewarded with was bitter and sent a rush of sadness through him. Maybe he was getting soft afterall, his heartstrings shouldn't have quivered like that.

Maybe he should see a doctor later and have him check up on Clyde while he was at it.

Damien peeled out Band-Aid after Band-Aid, pressing them onto the abused flesh. His lips curled into a scowl when he realized the wounds formed a demented smiley face. God damn his father's twisted sense of humor. He tried to roll the gauze around Clyde's torso but if the whimpers of pain and lack of consciousness were anything to go by, it wasn't a very good idea. Damien took the boy's faint as a chance to check him out.

Medically, of course.

Clyde was well-muscled and tan, with a flying crow on his shoulder, the letters TTCC written in gold ink right below it. The Hell ID number was done like a tramp stamp on the small of his back and Damien briefly mourned the mauled perfection. He _hated _tattoos, they were so vulgar. As if being watched, he shifted to better hide the rose on his hip. Remind him not to go to anymore bachelor parties. Even if John Lennon was marrying Alexander McQueen, that was no reason to do something incredibly stupid. Mildly stupid would be more than enough. Clyde blearily opened his eyes and reached out to Damien. "Hey, Craig, when'di'ya git here?" He slurred. "I missed you so, so, so much." He blinked. "Where's Tweek and Token? Are they here too?"

Damien swallowed hard. "No, Clyde, they're not." He responded, allowing himself to be gripped in a hug. His heart sagged and twisted like a balloon. Okay, no more eating virgin hearts in the morning. Or ever again, just to be safe.

"Oh, m'kay, then, are they going to be here soon? I miss all of you!"

"Yeah, Clyde, they'll be here soon, don't worry."

"Thank ya' Craig, I can't wait." Clyde relaxed again before slamming awake again in what seemed like hours. "Damien!" He gasped, falling back onto the bed. "How the hell did you get in my room?"

"We're in Pip's room, stupid, this is Hell, you blacked out." Damien said crisply, brushing off his sweater.

"What? Oh yeah…" His eyes zoned out of focus as he thought and remembered. "You helped me. You got me out of that spiky coffin thingy. Why did you do that?"

Damien shrugged and looked away, focusing on a picture of the sea that hung on the wall. "It doesn't matter why," He quoted, "I did and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Thank you." Clyde said quietly. "I thought I was going to die."

"You're in Hell; you can't die if you're already dead."

Clyde's eyes widened. "Oh yeah…"

"Will you stop saying that!" He demanded. "It's very irritating."

"Sorry, dude, sorry."

Damien huffed childishly. "And don't call me dude."

Clyde smiled. Damien's voice had deepened, not by a lot, but he sounded rather adorable. He leaned over and ruffled dark black hair only to be smacked away. Heat radiated from Damien as his eyes flared up. "Don't touch my hair!" He bellowed. "You're just like my dad." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back.

"Wow, du-Damien, I promise I won't do it again."

"Good."

"You're tattoo is strange by the way, what the hell is TTCC anyway?"

"Token, Tweek, Craig, Clyde. That's me and my friends. My name is Clyde." He offered awkwardly.

"I know that."

"How?"

"I'm the prince of Hell, I know all my subjects, don't insult me." Damien flipped his hair over his shoulder and smirked cockily. Clyde laughed and rested against the wooden headboard, clutching at his neatly bandaged sides. As Damien chuckled along, Clyde wasn't too surprised to find he rather liked the sound.

A lot.

A lot more than he should for someone who lived to torture him and anyone who dared "sin."

But then again, Clyde always liked breaking rules. He decided that made him kind of a badass. Craig was a bad ass, it explained some things. Bad asses could only be friends with other bad asses so even by default he was bad ass. Sweet. Being a natural bad ass only made him, like, a _double _bad ass. Damien was a bad ass. Kenny's stories proved it. So did the splash of red he saw peeking out from his jeans. So even in hell Clyde could be a bad ass with a bad ass friend. Even better, a _sexy _bad ass friend. Maybe one day they could be bad ass together. It sounded pretty damn awesome. Then, if they started dating, he could be a triple bad ass. Damien flipped his hair again and insulted Clyde's face. He smiled. Damien sounded like something out of a sound box from Build-a-Bear.

Not that he went to Build-a-Bear.

He was Clyde.

Moving on.

"You intrigued me." Damien finally admitted as Clyde snapped to attention. "You were crying but for some reason, I didn't want to push you into a fiery pit of despair or coat you in liquid hell and let the bees have at you."

"You mean honey?" Clyde asked, confused. Damien glared soundly, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, yes, honey, liquid hell, all the same to me, now, pay attention."

"Yes sir."

Damien held up his hand. "So far I know this; you know Pip and you know Christophe, you hiccup when you cry, you died hiking on a school trip because of a snake bite and you have two tattoos, that's all I know about you." He waited taking a deep gulp of air. "But I want to know more." He stuck out his hand. "I can't offer you friendship or any other stupid human thing but you will stay away from the pits of torture while I unravel the secrets of your mind. We will discuss what to do after that later. If you say yes, I will show you to your room and you will go to sleep. In the morning I will finish dressing your wounds and begin. If you say no, I will finish cleaning your wounds and throw you back into the Iron Maiden and never speak of this again. Are we clear?"

"Yes Damien." Clyde said, trying not to smile. Damien looked like a little kid ordering his parents around for juice.

"Well, what will you choose?" He demanded. Clyde grasped Damien's hand tightly, pumping it up and down. Damien was warmer than most people. Interesting. Clyde looked forward to learning about him as well.

"Show me to my room, captain. I guess I'm all yours."

Damien looked pleased. "Good. Follow me." Clyde obeyed and smiled as he took the opportunity to check out his ass.

Sweet…

Who knew, maybe eternal damnation would be fun.

Wow.

He thought _hell _might be fun.

While he was checking out the antichrist's ass.

Oh yeah, he was _so _bad ass.


End file.
